“Your father works as a liaison, doesn’t he? Why would you be asking him about an old lover? Or perhaps he’s another medical researcher…?”

His tone was mild, a slight smile on his crease of a mouth, but there was a sudden sharpness to his gaze that made her stomach tighten. Her lover was an obsessive man.

The truth cost her nothing. “Dost Abor…is someone I suspected to be affiliated with the Order. Just before I came here, he asked me questions about a Bajoran religious artifact I once handled, at the Ministry of Science.”

Moset leaned against her desk. “Why would the Order take interest—” He stopped abruptly, his eyes narrowing. “Was it one of the Orbs?”

Kalisi couldn’t hide her surprise at the terminology Moset used: the “Orbs.” She’d very nearly forgotten that anyone had ever referred to the objects as such, but she remembered now, Miras Vara had called the thing an Orb…an Orb of the… Prophets? Bajoran religious nonsense. “Why would you suggest that?”

Moset pursed his lips slightly, a knowing expression in his usually impassive eyes. “The Obsidian Order has been hoarding them,” he said. “I believe they want to keep them from the Oralian Way.”

“The religious fanatics?” Kalisi was puzzled; she knew very little of that particular organization—only rumors. “I thought the Union dealt with them decades ago.”

The maddening expression, his “teacher” voice. Kalisi dropped her gaze from him as he replied. “The Union probably thinks so, too. But the Way lives still.”

Kalisi couldn’t help a sneer. “How could you possibly know that?”

He smiled. “I have a relative who has been involved with the resurgence of the Way for some time now.”

“The resurgence? So you mean…younger people are practicing this faith now?”

“Yes, they have been rebounding in increasing numbers for at least fifteen years or so.”

“Fifteen years!”

“Possibly longer,” he said. “They are led by a woman—they call her the Guide. She has been around for fifteen years, at least—this is how long I have known of her, anyway. Her name is Astraea. She is said to be the successor to a line of religious guides who have the ability to channel their deity.”

Kalisi did not reply except to wrinkle her nose fiercely. As a scientist she felt especially skeptical—even contemptuous—regarding matters of mysticism and superstition. But she was reluctantly interested enough to continue listening to Moset’s account of the strange phenomenon.

“This so-called Astraea…I hear she was a ministry-trained scientist before she was chosen, or summoned, or whatever they call it.”

Kalisi scoffed audibly, and Moset went on without hesitation, as though deliberately ignoring her reaction.

“She’s had visions, they say. Maybe from one of those Orbs, who knows? My relative informed me that she met with this Astraea once, right on Cardassia Prime.”

Kalisi frowned, feeling annoyed with him. “So. You have a relative associated with a dissident group, and you’ve not reported it? Do the authorities know about this Astraea?”

Moset shrugged. “It seems likely. The Obsidian Order does, anyway.”

“Practice of this religion is illegal,” Kalisi said. “It is your duty to share this information with Union officials.”

He looked at her with an expression so patronizing, she wanted to scream. “This relative of mine is someone who means something to me, Kali. Sometimes our personal loyalties are as important as our allegiance to the Union. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Kalisi did not reply, for his proclamation was nothing less than shocking to her. He smiled lightly and stepped forward, cupping her chin in one long-fingered hand, leaning in to kiss her, as if he believed he could erase her disdain with his physical touch. She did what she could to mask her distaste, but it was difficult. Her feelings toward this man had cooled considerably since she’d first met him, and this new revelation wasn’t helping his case any. She’d assumed he was a patriot. Allegiance to the State was what being Cardassian was all about.

The kiss was passionate and lingering, and she felt her body responding in spite of her feelings. Still, she mostly wished he would go away.

When he finally pulled back, she said, “I’ve been offered a job.”

He seemed annoyed that the press of his cool lips hadn’t driven every other thought from her head, but he nodded with feigned interest. “Oh?”

“A position in weapons research, at the University of Culat.”

Moset blinked. “Really? Are you going to accept?”

His tone was matter-of-fact. She hesitated, wondering what she should say, thinking of her father, thinking of the guided genocide that she had become involved with…Thinking of the Bajoran child, of course. She hated that little girl for what she’d done to Kalisi’s carefully tended dreams, for making her reevaluate them so.

“No,” she said, forcing a smile. “Not now. Our work here is too important.”

“Are you joking?” It was his turn to look surprised. “You should take the job. Granted, what we’re doing here is important, but now that I’ve found a way to replicate the hormone, we’ll be able to synthesize vast amounts of the vaccine in a relatively short period. Within a year, every Bajoran on the planet will be made sterile. Anything else I do here will be…anticlimactic, I suppose.” He shook his head. “I have a few friends who keep apprised of which way the wind is blowing; Cardassia probably won’t be here in another generation, and I see no reason to linger to the disheartening end. If I were offered a university placement studying my true passion, I’d take it in a heartbeat.”

“They’d let you leave Bajor?”

“After all I’ve done here? And with the inevitable withdrawal looming? We’re not prisoners, darling. Of course they’d let me go.” He touched her again. “We could go together.”

Kalisi’s thoughts were so far from their relationship that she flinched at his touch. She was thinking that she had to be mad, that she’d finally lost her mind, after all. It was the only way she could account for her sudden decision to act. To rid herself of that small Bajoran face in her mind’s eye.

It won’t hurt a bit, she thought, and let him slide his hands around her waist and up her back, arching to his touch.

15

“ Have a seat, Odo.” The prefect gestured to the chair opposite his desk, and Odo looked at it.

“No, thank you,” he said. He preferred to remain standing.

Dukat’s eyeridge rose, an expression that Odo believed conveyed surprise, though he didn’t know why Dukat would be surprised. He decided maybe he’d better sit, after all.

“That’s better,” the prefect said, smiling now. “Would you care for anything to drink?”

Odo shook his head. “My physiology doesn’t require it,” he told Dukat, not for the first time.

“Oh, yes. Of course. My mistake.”

Odo spoke. “My notes regarding the investigation are ready for your review. I still haven’t found a definitively guilty suspect—”

“Forget the investigation. It’s the death of a single Bajoran man. You did your best, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” Odo wondered if Dukat meant to dismiss him from the position for his failure to solve the murder. “I wanted to be sure that I had the right person, you understand, and I haven’t satisfactorily—”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Odo.” Dukat shook his head slowly, folded his arms across his chest. “It’s difficult business, running a place like this, and trying to keep order in place on the whole of Bajor at the same time. Sometimes, certain things have to be overlooked, I suppose.”

“Murder?”

Dukat went on as if he hadn’t heard. “My superiors assign more responsibility to me than I believe I can accept. Events I have no control over…especially not with the limited funds and resources I am appropriated.”

“Indeed,” Odo mumbled, wondering why Dukat had called him here.